


Next Town Over

by cavenmalore



Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Mentions of homelessness, most of the characters are mentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 06:03:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20887310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cavenmalore/pseuds/cavenmalore
Summary: Justin had never actually lived in Crestmont until he was seventeen years old. Up until then, he had always been on the outskirts.





	Next Town Over

**Author's Note:**

> This is just my take on Justin's life before and after the Jensen's adopt him. I made up a little of my own backstory for Justin, but the fic is still canon compliant. This can be read as a companion piece to my other fic, Requiem, but it doesn't have to be. It works as a standalone.

Justin had never actually lived in Crestmont until he was seventeen years old. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. When he was six, his mom had a rich boyfriend who lived in Crestmont. His mom had jumped at the chance to get out of the hellhole they had been living in -- undrinkable water, stains on the walls, torn furniture. She had been trying to get clean and save up money, working before dawn and after dusk at a diner that paid more in tips than in salary. All it took was Darren, with his paycheck and cozy house. Of course, when his mom relapsed they broke up and Justin and his mom moved back into their shitty house that was decorated by the smell of meth and violence. But those couple of months had been enough to get into the Crestmont school district. And Bryces’ influence was enough to get Justin to stay. 

His education was conditional. He had to maintain at least a 3.0, participate in at least one after school activity, and he had to provide his own transportation to school. 

Every weekday morning, Justin woke up an hour early. He walked two blocks to catch the 6:20 bus. It was a relatively short drive, only twenty minutes over the bridge. But Justin was taking the public bus, so the frequent stops made the ride an hour long. Normally, he would sit in the fourth row from the front and do whatever homework he wasn’t able to the night before. He would arrive, three blocks away with 25 minutes to spare before school started. 

He didn’t always make the bus, though. Those were the worst days. 

On bad days, when he overslept or missed the bus, he had two options. If he was lucky, Ms. Morrison from down the street would drop him off. The hospital she worked at was in the next town over from Crestmont and she passed Liberty on the way to work. If Justin wasn’t lucky, he would wait for the 7:30 bus, another tardy to add to his record. 

Getting home could be brutal, especially on nights with long practices. Coach Patrick was nice enough to let him out a couple minutes early on Tuesdays and Thursdays, when the bus came earlier. Twice a week, Justin sprinted to the bus stop, just managing to board with fractions of seconds to spare. 

Justin didn’t usually mind the commute. In fact, he kind of liked it. It felt good to have distance between his school life and his real life, the drive over the bridge wiping his slate clean. 

Most of his friends at Liberty had never seen Justin’s house, which was the way he wanted it. They all had their reasons for not going. A decent enough amount were scared. Justin didn’t exactly live in the safest area. Gunshots weren’t an unfamiliar sound late at night. Every window was lined with bars. If you didn’t lock your car, it was almost certain that it would be gone the next day. The houses were small and weary, slumped faces and dirty edges. Nobody had freshly cut lawns like in Crestmont and nobody went outside after dark unless they were looking for trouble or carrying a weapon. A lot of kids at Liberty talked tough, but most were too afraid to step foot in Justin’s neighborhood. Unless they were buying drugs (but they had cushy, suburban dealers for that). 

For a couple, the drive was just too far. Why go across the bridge when you could go down the street? That was a favorite excuse of Justin’s, and it worked well before everyone got their licenses. 

But not living in Crestmont also meant that on weekends, Justin was exiled. Meeting up with friends in Crestmont was hard when no one wanted to pick you up and crossing the bridge cost bus fare that Justin had to save for Monday. That left him with two choices: stay the weekend at Bryce’s or stay at home. 

Whenever possible, Justin sprang for choice one. Bryce’s pool house was nice as shit, not to mention the booze and weed that came with it. Friends passed through and food was abundant; the TV was never turned off and Justin never had to worry about hands made to hurt. There, Justin could relax. Even if he was constantly reminded of how much less he had than Bryce. 

He tried to avoid it as much as possible. Bryce would offer him a phone, clothing, headphones. Justin would politely refuse. I’m poor, but I’m not that poor, he would joke. Except he was. So sometimes Justin would cave. Accept the new sneakers when his were falling apart. It was better than going to Goodwill. Again. 

That’s why, when the wealth made his throat close and his palms sweat, he went for option two. 

Just because he went to school in Crestmont didn’t mean he didn’t have any friends in his neighborhood. There was Alex two doors down, who’s mom made the best pie in the whole world and always invited him to dinner. Lizzie and her piercings. Matt, who could run circles around Justin in every sport except for basketball (depending on who you asked). Damon and Jackie, the twins who were exactly the same according to everyone but them. And others. 

Justin never talked about his home friends with his Crestmont friends, and he never talked about his Crestmont friends with his home friends -- except for when they made fun of him for going to a “bougie school with rich assholes”. 

They all hung out at the basketball court five blocks from Justin’s house. They would play three on three, gossip about others in town, and talk about the cars they would buy once they had the money for it. Afterwards, they would walk to Raymond's, a local restaurant that served the best barbecue in California. They would sit and talk and joke and laugh. Justin’s shoulders would relax. Hanging out with the kids from Liberty was hard sometimes, they all had so much and Justin’s blood raced at the thought of them realizing that there was an outlier in their group. With these kids, they all knew about each other’s home lives, all shared the same problems. There wasn’t anything one of the group hadn’t seen before. Nobody cared about whatever shit happened behind closed doors. That was the life they all knew. Hanging out with them was the vacation from Crestmont that Justin needed. 

The only problem was, after they were done, he had to go home. 

Home that might not have food or electricity. 

Home to his mother high out of her mind. 

Home to her boyfriend of the month and his temper. 

Home where he might not be able to stay, depending on the climate. 

Home that Justin hated more than anything. 

By the end of the weekend, Justin was usually looking forward to getting on the bus again Monday morning. 

Moving in with the Jensen’s was weird. None of the rules of the previous places he lived applied. They didn’t want abundant gratefulness like Bryce or silence and submission like his mom’s boyfriends or a good fuck like any of the men on the street. Hell, they didn’t even ask for rent. Justin was at a total loss for what to do. Whenever he thanked Laine or Matt for giving him a bed or food or rehab, they got pinched looks on their faces. 

“You know, you don’t have to thank us,” Matt said slowly one night after Justin thanked them for dinner. “We’re parents. It’s what we do.” 

Justin had felt queasy. It might be what parents did, but it certainly wasn’t what his mother had done. How many times had she sent him to get dinner and left none for him? How many times had she gotten high and eaten everything? How many times was she too fucked up to remember to buy food? How many times had she blown all of their money on meth or heroin or crack or any of the shit she pumped herself full of? 

Justin just nodded. “Yeah, I-I know that.” Matt smiled like he didn’t really believe him. 

The weirdest parts though were the things that Justin hadn’t anticipated. 

It had been months since Justin had really slept in a bed. Sure, there were shelters and motels and couches here and there, but Justin spent the majority of his homelessness on pavement. Under the bridge, behind the dumpster, anywhere with a flat surface and protection from the wind. Justin had become good sleeping regardless of where he was. No pillow? No problem. Middle of the day? Not an issue. 

The first night at the Jensen’s in an actual bed (that belonged to him!), Justin couldn’t relax. The mattress was too soft. The comforter was too heavy. Was the front door locked? Justin couldn’t sleep if the door was unlocked. It was too exposed. There was too much risk involved. 

Logically, he knew he was safe, but years of drunk men barging into his room, dragging him out of bed, had made him anxious. And sleeping on the street made him a light sleeper. You never know when someone could roll you, taking all the meager items you owned and what little cash you had. 

Justin fought the urge to lock the door. The Jensen’s had a rule: the door was unlocked. Always. Justin refused to break it, but his skin was crawling, his nerves were electric.  
It took him three weeks before he could fall asleep there. 

There were other habits that took time to break too. Showering made Justin nervous, too much exposure and not enough protection. In juvie, he had to be on guard and on the street, showering was a luxury reserved for seedy motels after sex. When Justin was showering, he was open. He couldn’t allow that. At least for showering he was allowed to lock the door. 

Until he came clean about his relapse. 

After that, it was an eye on him 24/7, no personal space and no privacy. It made him want to pull his own hair out. It was nice to have people care about him, but after seventeen years of nobody, he just wanted to be left alone. It took all of his ability not to snap at Clay for searching his stuff or yell at the Jensen’s when they started to track his phone. He got it. But at the same time, he was fine before and he would be fine now. Nobody seemed to understand that though. 

Everywhere he went, pity followed. The more the Jensen’s (and his friends at Liberty) learned about his life, the more they gave him The Look. Big eyes. Lowered eyebrows. Fidgeting hands and a gaze that screams “I feel bad for you”. Justin hated it. None of them had felt bad before when he was just another asshole jock that deserved what was coming to him. None of them wanted to help when he begged to stay the night. None of them gave a shit when he was homeless and alone until he was needed for the trial. None of them had cared. Now, all of a sudden, he couldn’t survive without them. He was a charity case to be taken care of. He was a victim that they could use to make themselves feel better. The poor, abused boy from a broken home who had a hard life. Fuck them. Justin could take care of himself better than any of them. He survived on the streets without any of their help. He survived a living hell for seventeen years while his mother wasted away in front of a TV screen with a needle in her arm. He fed himself, clothed himself, made money for himself. He had done whatever it took to live, scourging for food in dumpsters, blow jobs and sex in alleys, pick pocketing people off the street, begging for the change at the bottom of strangers wallets. He had gotten into cars and didn’t know if he would live to see the next morning. He didn’t need them. 

But it was nice to have them. 

It was nice to wake up at 7:00 AM and drive five minutes to school. 

It was nice to come home and have food in the fridge. 

It was nice to know where he was sleeping every weekend. 

It was nice to have a bed and a shower where he didn’t have to be on guard. 

It was nice to live in Crestmont. 

For once, Justin’s life was nice. 

And he knew they were all trying. Trying to understand his life before. Trying to understand the revolving door of assholes who haunted him. Trying to understand him. Jessica was practically falling over herself to help him, looking for consent for every kiss and touch. Zach was venturing into uncharted territory, asking questions their friendship danced around before. And Clay? Justin had never had a brother before. If this was what it was like, he was seriously missing out. Nobody had ever cared about him the way that Clay did. 

Justin had spent his life just around the corner from this, living miles behind everyone else in Crestmont. But now that he had moved there, he was finally catching up.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the rushed ending! If you liked this please kudos and comment! Seriously, nothing makes me happier than seeing a comment (of any length!). If you wanna talk more Justin or 13wr with me, my tumblr is @caven---malore !


End file.
